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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445861">Skirting the issue</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity'>peaceloveandjocularity</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity'>stateofintegrity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>MASH (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Klinger’s outfits turn more heads than he realizes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Skirting the issue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Bit of an odd time for sewing, eh Corporal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger looked up with thread between his teeth. It didn’t match this latest ensemble - why should it? - but he got it on the needle with surprising dexterity. Winchester made a mental note: maybe they should train Klinger on IVs for triage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those guys in post op were clowning around with me again, broke the strap. Happens all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The surgeon’s brows knit together and his hand reached out to cover Klinger’s shoulder. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how it is, Major. Those guys want to chase skirts. If they can’t find any real girls around, they bother me. I lose some buttons, but they don’t mean any harm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s unacceptable.” He wasn’t bellowing, though he’d have liked to, but his cheeks were warm with indignation. “You are there to help them. Essentially, you’re a nurse. We wouldn’t permit the female nurses to be harassed this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger enjoyed his aristocratic pronunciation in which harassed came out “HAIR-russed” but shrugged off the concern. “It’s fine, Major. Hell, it’s probably good for them. Makes ‘em feel alive.” He offered a conspiratorial wink that Winchester had learned to regard as something of a Klinger trademark. “Besides, even if they could get a hand under these skirts, I layer petticoats like bakers layer cakes, Major, so my virtue is safe enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strap repaired, Klinger gamely returned to his rounds. Charles, however, wasn’t about to let the matter drop. Morning found him in Potter’s office “raising a ruckus about the manhandling of Klinger’s feminine costume,” as the CO would later put it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evening found him back in the Swamp being tormented by two titillated tentmates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, the knight of the garter belt returns,” Pierce quipped as he entered, alerting Charles to the fact that his fellow surgeons knew all about his previous conversation with the CO. Can no one in this camp keep a confidence? he wondered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dignity worn like armor, Charles ignored him, made for his bunk and liberated aching feet from the heavy boots the army insisted on even for medical personnel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking some silent cue from Hawkeye, BJ tried his luck. “What’s got you standing up for the poor and downtrodden, Charles? Some kind of new tax deduction?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles thought about rolling his eyes. He silently began a letter to Honoria in his head: </span>
  <em>
    <span>My unwanted companions are puppies. I am the stick upon which they tug, slobber, and gnaw. Is it too much to hope that I give them splinters... in their tongues?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’ve heard about that one, Beej,” Hawk said when Charles remained disagreeably mum. “Stick up for an enlisted man and they front you twenty-five dollars to invest in war bonds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winchester knew that his silence could not possibly be sustained; Hawkeye would start pawing at him soon if he didn’t engage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It might not just be for the money though,” Pierce went on, voice becoming sly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” BJ was acting of course, feigning shock at Pierce’s antics. Charles thought about telling him that he ought to borrow Klinger’s Scarlett O’Hara dress if he was going to use that tone but bit his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Charles has a crush.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring them, still, Charles walked to the still and poured himself a glass of gin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must be right, Hawkeye. We’ve driven him to drink!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles sipped the repugnant beverage, letting the alcohol sear its way down his trachea before answering. “Even granted whips and chairs, the two of you couldn’t drive me to anything. I am partaking of this sheer swill only in hopes it will hasten my descent into sleep and spare me any further part in this conversation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>BJ’s grin was pure cheek. “I’d sure love to believe you, Charles, but your cheeks are as pink as valentines.” He turned to the third member of their government-mandated comedy troupe. “What do you think it is, Hawk? Klinger’s dark hair? His chandelier earrings?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, no, no. Our man Charles has class. He wouldn’t be taken in by costume jewelry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The white gloves then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely. Who can resist a man with ladies 8 1/2 size hands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles endured. It wasn’t a firing squad, after all, just two men children plinking stones off of his armor to hear the connecting sound. He’d survived worse, and the gin put a buzzy curtain between him and any blood they might have drawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did humble his tormentors, though, when he said, "Corporal Klinger is trying to do his job and he's being groped by men hard enough to rip his clothes. Is that not a worthy cause to stand up for without ulterior motives?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their smiles fell. Unofficial caretakers of so many NCOs, they felt suddenly guilty at having overlooked Klinger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night, after BJ was snoring, Hawk’s voice came through the shadows. “Teasing aside, you did good today, Charles. Klinger does good work. He shouldn’t be given any hassle while he’s trying to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Pierce. I’m surprised that you and Hunnicutt didn’t notice and put a stop to it before I got the chance, crusaders that you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hawkeye sighed. “I guess we’ve been guilty of taking Klinger for granted. He’s always on hand when we need him, so we forget he has other work he’s juggling. And he usually lets things slide off his back, so it’s easy to overlook some teasing.” He waited a few minutes after this mea culpa to add, “So cough up. What is it that got to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles had never been the sort for male confidants. This invitation to engage in guy talk - no matter how unconventional - both alarmed and intrigued him. “Just between us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hawkeye propped himself up on an elbow so that Charles could read his eyes. “Of course. No jokes, no tricks. Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles had a moment to wonder how deep Pierce’s affection for Hunnicutt actually went. If it reached the depths he imagined... what a tragedy! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unless</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peg Hunnicutt is the most liberal woman in the 48 states and will take Pierce in at the war’s end... </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles decided to indulge in uncharacteristic optimism and believe that she would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His kindness,” he said at last. “There seems to be no end to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pierce’s smile momentarily illuminated the tent as he recounted Klinger’s efforts to get him a glimpse of home via a Maine magazine. “He traded away a month’s worth of good lunches so I could look at those pictures,” he remembered fondly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lapsed into companionable silence. After a long pause, Charles dared the question occupying his thoughts. “Pierce, do you think there’s any chance...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pierce didn’t force him to finish. “Absolutely. One hundred percent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made him sit up. “How can you be so sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charles, what is the one thing everyone who was drafted into this deadly dinner show wants?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Travel orders?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pierce was pleased to hear he retained his dry wit. “Sure, right. But next to that? BJ would cut out my liver without an anesthetic and sell it on the black market if it would bring him one night - hell, one hour! - with Peg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if in confirmation, BJ lolled on his cot and murmured his wife’s name. A rueful smile crossed Hawk’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to Klinger with love in your eyes, Charles. If he turns you down, I’ll eat a jeep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles took his advice, but whatever Klinger could or could not have read in his eyes, he didn’t go empty-handed. Klinger’s brows went up when he saw the box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Major. Something I can help you mail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something you can help me open, rather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed the box on the bed. Klinger reached out to touch the ribbon without meaning to; the sheen of the fabric called to the pads of his fingers. He drew them back quickly when he realized what he was doing and glanced at them as if he feared that the rich color had left its trace on his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charles gestured at the chair beside the bed. “Do you mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not. Sit.” He felt addled by Winchester’s presence in his tent, by the box on the bed and whatever expensive article it clearly contained. A second look left him more perplexed; Charles was wearing his dress browns, the skirt of the suit jacket tailored to his waist, the white scarf jauntily tied about his neck. “Are you going somewhere, Major?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That, ah, remains to be seen.” He nudged the box toward him. “If you would be so kind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still watching his face, Klinger tugged at the ribbon. “This isn’t one of those gags where I lift the lid off and spring snakes come out, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The depth of your trust is touching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did turn me over to a madman with a gun, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You asked to go! And I did thank you most effusively afterwards. Open the box.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Torn between seeing what the package contained and watching the face of his unexpected visitor bearing gifts, Klinger moved with cautious slowness. He didn’t gasp when the gown was unveiled, tissue paper crinkling, but his hands shot forward to bury themselves in the glittering cloth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands still learning the texture, he cocked his dark head at Winchester. “For me? How come, Major?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winchester had hoped the dress would speak for him. He hadn’t rehearsed the words. But Klinger was watching his face and saw the terrible vulnerability there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said softly. “Really? You’re sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winchester just nodded; to do more might have shattered him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger reached out, held a shaking hand to his cheek. Charles leaned into it to kiss the inside of his wrist. Receiving no censure for the act, he kissed a path up his palm. Though they were both fully clothed and the point of contact between them was tiny, it was the most erotic experience of Klinger’s life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fingers of Klinger’s free hand burrowed under the white dress scarf to stroke over Charles’ throat, to feel the thrashing pulse, to loosen the fabric to bare that throat to be kissed. He was surprised at how much Charles allowed; though he outranked him, Charles was almost meek under his mouth. He tilted his head back to welcome those hot, seeking kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one’s ever kissed you this way, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Klinger thought, feeling unexpectedly proud. He was practically in Winchester’s lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naked need was a new experience for the Major, but Klinger thought he did pretty well. The dress box fell to the floor between them and as he pressed forward, Charles was there to lift him up and to give a delicious little gasp at the evidence of the effect he was having on his new love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they broke apart to breathe, he said, “This is a terrible chair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why’s that, Major?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t fit in it in a way that will allow me to, ah...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Klinger was curious about how he could possibly translate what he meant into upper class Bostonian, but he didn’t make him. “Gotcha. We can move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slid down - reluctantly, to be sure - and turned the bed down. Charles slipped off his boots. Then he took the Major’s hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Klinger sashayed through his duties in a new dress and wearing a new smile. As he tended to patients he was careful to gather the hem and hold it close; he wanted this one to stay nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needn’t have worried. Hawkeye and BJ kept an eye on the Corporal and made sure he was as free of problems as the rest of the nursing staff. And when the rotation changed and Charles came on duty, Hawkeye smirked. “Saw your uniform in the laundry,” he said, voice pitched uncharacteristically low. “Saw your boyfriend in a new dress, too. Congrats.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Captain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pierce could tell from his tone that he was grateful for more than just the word of congratulations. “You know your wardrobe budget just went way, way up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, this threat of increased expenditure won him a beaming smile. “I do know. And it will be worth every penny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>End! </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
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